


After the Funeral

by phoebesmum



Category: Sports Night
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-13
Updated: 2009-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-04 09:46:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoebesmum/pseuds/phoebesmum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dan needs taking care of, Casey's there. Unfortunately, so is Dan's Auntie Miriam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Funeral

**Author's Note:**

> Written: begun as a gift fic in April 2007; completed and posted November 2007.

By the third day Casey had started to wonder why he'd ever come there.

It had seemed so straightforward, back in New York. Danny needed him; he'd be there for him. As simple as that. But now 'there' was 'here', and 'here' was Connecticut, Dan's family home, and Casey was starting to wonder whether Dan really needed him at all. How could he, when half the time he didn't seem to notice that Casey was even there? Hell, more often than not, _Dan_ wasn't there; he was locked away with the lawyers, or the realtor, or the rabbi, and each time he emerged he seemed a little paler, a little more worn, a little more ragged round the edges, as though these people with their endless demands on his time and his thoughts and his energy were vampires, feeding on his soul. He wasn't eating; he slept badly. Barely spoke. And Casey had no idea how to reach him. He'd hold him at night, feel him rigid in his arms; lie awake listening in vain for Dan's breathing to smooth out into sleep until he could hold out no longer and fell asleep himself. When he awoke, Danny would be gone.

Dan didn't need him; his family, Dan's family who Casey could not think of as in-laws, despised him. Casey had no idea what he was doing there. He only knew what made him stay: that spark, faint and fleeting, at the back of Danny's eyes sometimes, the trapped, wordless plea – _Help me!_

Casey would have given anything to make things right. If only he had the first idea where to start. But all he could do was stand by and wait for his moment.

On Thursday, late, Dan shook hands with the last caller of the day, closed the door behind them, fell back against it, hands fisted, eyes closed. He stood like that for a moment, just breathing, then looked up at Casey and managed a tight smile.

"I'm sorry." It came out as a sigh, and he closed his eyes again briefly before he pushed himself away from the door and took the three short steps that would bring him into Casey's waiting arms. "This hasn't been much fun for you," he murmured, and buried his face in Casey's skin; Casey could feel his breath, warm and moist, against his collarbone. He pulled him closer, wrapped him safe.

"Worse for you." His own voice was gruff with concern. Dan's skin had taken on a grey tinge, his hair grown lank, his eyes dark-ringed. "I just came along for the ride."

"Pretty lousy ride," Dan murmured. He pulled back and managed a faint smile. "But, you know what? That was the last of them. Tomorrow, I'm all yours."

Casey grinned. "And you'll make it up to me?"

"I'll make it up to you," Dan promised. He reached for Casey's hand and squeezed. "I'd start making it up to you right this minute, only – "

"Yeah, I see," Casey said. He set his free hand between Dan's shoulderblades, spun him around, and gave him a little shove to start him toward the staircase. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Dan promised. And yawned.

***

Friday morning, Casey started awake, jolted upright, heart hammering. Maybe he'd dreamed it, but he'd thought he'd heard a door slam somewhere in the empty house. Perhaps Danny …?

No; Dan was still lying by his side, deeply asleep, one arm curled above his head, his lashes sweeping dark semi-circles across his still too-pale skin. With the frown lines erased from his forehead and his mouth relaxed into something softer than the tight, angry line that Casey had come to know and hate, he looked ridiculously young, not much older than the teenager Casey had fallen in love with all those years ago. Casey felt his heart tighten, and lifted his hand to touch Dan's hair. Then he heard it again. _Definitely_ a door. And inside the house; too close to have come from one of the outbuildings.

Casey hesitated. He was neither any kind of hero, nor in any sort of state to defend himself, but he couldn't just lie still and wonder. Anything could be out there. He slid out of bed, found his boxers and a teeshirt, slipped his feet into his Nikes – the house was ridiculously cold, and the old wooden floors tended to splinter – and padded, as silently as he knew how, down the two flights of stairs.

He didn't know quite what he'd been expecting. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't to find a plump, middle-aged woman placidly unpacking groceries in the kitchen. He pulled up short in the doorway, stood gaping for a moment, then said, awkwardly, "Um – can I help you?"

She turned toward him and said, loudly, "Pardon me?"

Casey raised his own voice as much as he felt was polite. "I said, can I help you? This is – " No, _private property_ would make it sound as though he were accusing this sweet old lady of breaking and entering. Never mind if that was, technically, the truth. "That is, I mean, I didn't know we were expecting anyone this mor- today." A glance at the clock told him that _morning_ was subjective and it was now long past noon, but he was determined not to let this embarrass him. Any more than he was embarrassed by being somewhat underdressed to receive visitors, he thought, and forced his hands to abandon their futile efforts to pull the hem of his teeshirt down to cover his shorts.

She just said, "Ah!", lifted the pearl-rimmed spectacles that hung around her neck, adjusted them on her nose and then, perversely, squinted at Casey over the top of them. "You must be the McCall boy." She looked him up and down critically, then sniffed. "You're skin and bone, I see. Now, me, I liked some meat on my men. But, I suppose, each to his own. I'm Danny's Auntie Miriam," she belatedly added, nodded at him, and returned to her grocery bags. She appeared, Casey noted with some dismay, to have brought enough food to feed a small army. How long was she planning to stay?!

"Er …" There seemed no tactful way to ask this, so he just went straight at it. "Miriam? How did you get in the house?"

"Oh, I'm always welcome here," she said vaguely. "I've come to make Danny a proper dinner."

Ah. Casey felt a welcome sense of understanding. He'd never paid much attention to Dan's faith – and Dan himself, outside of a couple of major holidays, seemed to pay it little mind – but he'd been reading up on customs in preparation for the funeral, and he had an answer ready. "Dan doesn't really observe Shabbat …" he ventured.

She looked at him over her glasses again. "He _eats_, doesn't he?" she said pointedly.

Casey couldn't deny it, and when she added, "And I'm certain that he hasn't been, these last few days," he found himself so in agreement as to be entirely defeated. She was unpacking kitchen utensils now, and emphasised the words with a wave of a really quite scary-looking butcher's knife, accompanied by a glare that could have shattered rock. Casey didn't feel equipped to argue. He muttered excuses and shuffled around her as he tried to make coffee. If he was going to wake Danny with bad news, at least let there be coffee to soften the blow.

Dan was still sleeping. If Casey had had his way, he would have left him to sleep the day away, if that was what he needed. But … Auntie Miriam had pretty much knocked that option out of the court. He set the coffee down on the nightstand, and reached over to shake Dan gently by the shoulder. Dan groaned and rolled away, buried his head in his arms, and mumbled, "What?" Then he sniffed, raised his head, and looked around hopefully. "You made coffee?"

"I _brought_ you coffee," Casey clarified. Dan managed a smile at that, wriggled around and half-sat up. When the danger of spillage appeared to have been minimised, Casey put a cup into his waiting hands and watched as he sipped, life gradually returning to his eyes.

Dan gave a blissful sigh. "M'mm." Then he looked up at Casey, smiled, and reached out his free hand. "Didn't I promise you something last night?"

Casey sighed in turn, far less blissfully. Yes, yes, he had. And Casey had been looking forward to collecting. But now –

"Your Aunt Miriam's in the kitchen," he said.

Dan jerked upright so suddenly that, after all, coffee spilt onto his bare chest. "My _what?!_"

"Your Aunt Miriam."

Dan's voice turned panicky. "I can't have sex with you with Aunt Miriam in the house!"

Casey was inclined to feel the same, but he wasn't about to give up without a fight. "She seems nice."

"She _is_ nice," Dan said grimly. "She's sweet and kind and supportive, she's the only one of my dad's family who didn't treat my mother like shit, and she's the only one in _all_ my family who, when I came out, didn't laugh at me, or freak the hell out."

"What _did_ she do?" Casey was curious.

"She said, 'that's nice, dear', and asked if I'd like a sandwich. She's wonderful, and I love her to death, but I cannot. Have sex. With Aunt Miriam in the house!"

Casey sighed again. "I could get rid of her?" he offered, reluctantly. Throwing nice little old ladies out of the house, particularly nice little old ladies who were going to cook him dinner, was not one of his strong points.

Dan shook his head. "No," he said simply. "No. You couldn't." He was out of bed now, padding naked into the bathroom. Casey watched wistfully as he disappeared behind the shower screen and the water heater started to screech. It was an old shower, and incredibly noisy … and the kitchen was down two flights of stairs … but, no. Aunt Miriam, he somehow sensed, would _know_.

***

She was waiting for them when they got downstairs. She'd scrambled eggs, poured out juice, and toasted bagels. Dan hugged her and kissed her on the cheek as though he were genuinely glad to see her, while Casey stood by awkwardly. "Eat," she told them, "Eat!", as though there were a stereotype to be maintained, and, once they'd finished, she chivvied them out of the kitchen again. They stood outside the door, looking at one another.

"I'm getting the locks changed," Dan said grimly. "This is _my_ house now, and I'm getting the locks changed."

"Really?" Casey said.

"No," Dan admitted, and he started walking, snagging a jacket from a hook as he passed through the front door. Casey grabbed one for himself – it turned out to be a pink plastic raincoat, probably belonging to Dan's sister, almost certainly an ironic anti-fashion statement – and ran to catch him up.

"Where are you going?"

"Somewhere," Dan said, "Where people are not."

"Am I people?" Casey asked, falling into step beside him. Dan turned his head and looked him up and down.

"Technically," he admitted, "But for the purpose of this argument, I'll think of you as a large, friendly dog. If that's okay by you?"

"Woof," Casey said, and shot him a grin. After a moment, Dan managed a faint smile.

"I'm sorry," he said. "It's just – I wanted – "

"Hey," Casey said, and reached out a hand, gently squeezed Dan's elbow. "I know. So did I."

They walked: past the flower beds and down a flight of stone steps to a lawn badly in need of cutting, past a rank of deformed topiary and along a long, gravel path until they struck out into woodland. Casey had never cared much for the country – Danny, he knew, took it for granted and barely even noticed his surroundings – but these woods … These woods were, as woods are meant to be, silent, lovely, dark and deep. Peaceful. Perfect.

_Perfect!_ he suddenly realised.

Dan was a little way ahead of him again. Casey hung back, enjoying the view – Dan's ass in tight, worn jeans never got old – whilst checking out the area. Everything was quiet; he heard birdsong, and once something scurried across their path, but nothing else. No noise. No traffic. No people. Just emptiness. And privacy.

He said, "Hey, Danny?" And, as Dan turned back, looking a question, he stepped quickly forward, grabbed Danny by the shoulders, and kissed him. Hard.

"Will Aunt Miriam know if we do it out here?" he murmured into Dan's ear, and Dan threw back his head, laughing. It had been too long since Casey had heard that laugh, and hearing it now made the greyness of the day seem suddenly a little brighter.

"She might do," Dan said. "But you know what? I really don't care."

Woods, it turned out, were less than ideal for the purpose Casey had in mind: there were stones, and twigs, and mud, and _bits_ and, once, a fir cone in a highly inappropriate place, and it was damp and cold and thoroughly inconvenient, no matter how hard Casey tried to tell himself it was romantic – but the pink plastic raincoat found a use as a groundsheet and they found their own ways to warm themselves up. It was worth it, Casey decided afterwards, pulling pine needles out of his knees, to see the smile on Danny's face, the peace in Danny's eyes.

Dan looked inclined to stay lying where he was forever, but the goosebumps that were rising on his skin told Casey that would be a bad idea. Plus, the next time they had sex, Casey was determined it would be someplace with heating, and with cushions. So he reached down, pulled Dan to his feet, brushed him off and buttoned him up, turned him homeward and, with a little shove to the small of his back, started him walking.

Danny's fingers were twined with his; Dan's head was resting on his shoulder. He slung an arm around Danny's waist, and tightened it, holding him close.

"Stay with me now," he murmured, and Dan nodded.

This, Casey realised – _this_ was why he was there. Because where in the world else _could_ he be, if not by Danny's side?

And when they got home there was food and warmth, and Aunt Miriam's welcoming, knowing smile.

*** 


End file.
